Chapter Text
The week after the bar incident, Zoro couldn’t stop thinking about it.
About Sanji, limping down those stairs with hurt in his eyes. About the way he’d opened up over sake, vulnerable in a way Zoro had never seen. About the fact that Sanji was bi, was interested in men, was no longer the impossible fantasy Zoro had resigned himself to.
About the fact that Sanji’s first experience with a man had been terrible and he deserved so much better.
Zoro tried to focus on training. On his swords, on his goals, on anything other than the cook who’d somehow become even more distracting than usual, but his mind kept drifting.
He’d catch himself watching Sanji in the galley. Would see him laughing with Nami or arguing with Luffy and wonder if he was okay, if he was still processing what had happened.
They hadn’t talked about it again. They’d fallen back into their usual routine of bickering and competing, but something had shifted. There was a new awareness between them, a change that hadn’t been there before. Or maybe it had always been there and Zoro was just allowing himself to notice it now.
“You’re distracted,” Nami observed one afternoon, finding him on deck staring into space instead of training.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s new.” She grinned at his glare. “What about?”
About how I want to hunt down the guy who hurt Sanji and cut him into pieces. About how I want to show Sanji what it should be like with someone who actually cares. About how I’ve been in love with him for years and just realized I might actually have a chance.
“Nothing important,” Zoro replied.
Nami didn’t look convinced, but she let it drop.
The thoughts kept circling though. Obsessive. Intrusive. Zoro had never been one for overthinking. He preferred action, decisiveness, but this felt too important to rush into, too fragile.
The thing was, Zoro didn’t just want to fuck Sanji. He wanted more. He wanted to take him apart slowly, carefully, and put him back together. He wanted to show him how good it could be with someone who was paying attention, who cared about his pleasure as much as their own. He wanted to keep him.
But that was selfish. Sanji was just figuring himself out. He didn’t need Zoro’s feelings complicating things, didn’t need the pressure of Zoro’s desire.
Except... what if Zoro could give him something good? A better experience, with someone who’d actually take care of him? Someone who’d make sure he felt safe and wanted and good?
It would still be half-selfish. Zoro couldn’t pretend otherwise. He wanted Sanji, had wanted him for years, but it would also be for Sanji. To give him what he deserved.
The idea took root and wouldn’t let go.
By the end of the week, Zoro had made his decision.
~*~*~
Sanji was in the galley prepping dinner when Zoro found him. He’d been expecting this, in a way. They’d been dancing around each other all week and something had to give eventually.
“Cook. Got a minute?”
Sanji looked up from the vegetables he was chopping. Zoro stood in the doorway, his expression serious, and Sanji’s pulse kicked up.
“Sure. What’s up?”
Zoro stepped inside and closed the door. He leaned against it, arms crossed. “I’ve been thinking about what happened. At the bar with that guy.”
Sanji’s hands stilled.
Here it comes. He’s going to give me some lecture about staying away from places like that, tell me how stupid it was. Or worse, he’s going to say he can’t look at me the same way anymore.
“Zoro, we don’t have to—”
“Let me finish.” Zoro’s eye was intense, pinning him in place. “You deserved better than what you got. You should’ve had someone who’d take care of you. Someone who’d make sure you felt good. And I... I want to offer that. If you’re interested.”
Sanji’s brain short-circuited. “You want to... what?”
Sanji’s heart completely stopped. For one perfect, crystalline moment, everything in the world narrowed down to those words.
Then reality crashed back in, cold and brutal.
Oh.
Oh, of course.
The disappointment was so sharp it felt like a physical wound. Sanji’s brain caught up with what Zoro was actually saying and the hope that had flared so bright guttered out like a candle in the wind.
Zoro felt sorry for him. Poor Sanji, who’d gotten fucked badly by some asshole at a bar. Poor Sanji, who didn’t know what he was doing, who’d limped back downstairs looking pathetic and used. Of course Zoro would offer to fix it. That’s what Zoro did. He protected people. He solved problems.
“You’re offering to fuck me out of pity?” Sanji’s voice came out sharper than he intended, defensive.
“It’s not pity,” Zoro protested. Sanji looked away, his jaw tightening. “I want to give you a better experience.” Zoro pushed off the door and took a step closer. “With someone who cares. Who’ll make sure you’re ready, that it doesn’t hurt, that you actually enjoy it.”
Someone who cares. The words should have been comforting. Instead, they felt like salt in a wound. Zoro cared about all of them, about the crew, about his nakama. This wasn’t special. This wasn’t what Sanji wanted it to be.
Zoro just wanted to give him a pity fuck. Make sure the poor confused bisexual had a decent experience so he wouldn’t be traumatized. How noble. How fucking charitable.
The absolute worst part was that Sanji wanted to say yes anyway.
Even if it was just pity, even if Zoro only wanted his body and nothing else, it would still be Zoro. It would still be those hands on him, that mouth, that focused intensity turned on Sanji for however long it lasted. And god, Sanji wanted that so badly that the pure temptation of it hurt worse than Sadaichi’s rough treatment had.
He was utterly pathetic. Here he was ready to take whatever scraps Zoro would give him just because he was desperate and in love and so fucking lonely.
“How is that not pity,” Sanji retorted. He needed to hear Zoro admit it, needed to confirm what he already knew so he could make his peace with it.
“Because I don’t pity you, Sanji. I care about you. I have for a long time. And yeah, I want you. But more than that, I want you to have good memories. To know what it’s supposed to be like.”
“You... care about me?”
“Yeah.”
“And you want me?”
“Yeah.”
The words should have meant something, but Sanji had heard variations of that before from women who wanted the fantasy of the gentleman cook, from men at the bar who’d wanted a pretty face and a willing body. Want was cheap. Want was easy. Want didn’t mean anything beyond the physical.
Zoro wanted him, wanted to fuck him, wanted to give him a “good experience” like some kind of sexual charity case. Zoro wanted to fix him, not keep him.
And Sanji was going to say yes because he was weak and desperate and this was probably the closest he’d ever get to having what he really wanted.
If he couldn’t have Zoro’s heart, he’d take his body. He’d take whatever he could get and pretend it was enough.
“For how long?”
Zoro’s expression flickered. “Does it matter?”
“Yeah, it fucking matters.” Sanji set down his knife before he cut himself. “Because I’ve been losing my mind over you for months, and if you’re just offering this because you feel bad for me—”
“Months?” Zoro’s eye widened.
Sanji looked away, silently cursing himself. The words had spilled out before he could stop them. But he might as well lay it all out there, let Zoro know exactly what he was getting into: that Sanji had feelings, real feelings, and this was going to hurt him in ways Zoro probably couldn’t imagine.
(But he was going to do it anyway because he was a lovesick fool.)
“Why do you think I was at that bar?” Sanji’s voice cracked. “I was trying to figure out if what I feel for you is real or just some weird fixation. Trying to see if I’m actually attracted to men or if it’s just you.”
“And?”
“It’s not just you. I’m definitely bi.” Sanji laughed, a little hysterical. “But you’re still the one I can’t stop thinking about. So if you’re offering this because you feel sorry for me, I need you to not. Because I don’t think I can handle that.”
Liar, his brain whispered. You’ll handle it. You’ll take it and pretend it’s enough and break your own heart in the process because you’re too weak to say no.
But he needed to hear Zoro say it. Needed to know for certain that this was just physical, just Zoro being a good friend, just—
Zoro crossed the distance between them in two strides. He caught Sanji’s face in his hands, somehow both rough and gentle at the same time. “I’ve wanted you for years, cook. Years. I never said anything because I thought you were straight. But now...” His thumb brushed Sanji’s cheekbone. “Now I’m saying it. I want you. Not because I feel sorry for you, but because I can’t fucking stop thinking about you.”
Sanji’s breath caught. “Years?”
“Years.”
Years. He said years. But that doesn’t mean… It could still just be physical, wanting someone’s body for years doesn’t mean feelings are involved, does it?
But then Zoro was kissing him and Sanji’s brain went offline entirely.
It was nothing like kissing Sadaichi had been. This was fire and want and years of tension finally breaking. Zoro kissed like he fought: intense, focused, overwhelming. His hands were in Sanji’s hair, tilting his head to deepen the kiss, and Sanji made a sound he’d be embarrassed about later.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Zoro rested his forehead against Sanji’s.
“So is that a yes?” Zoro asked, voice rough.
“To what, exactly?”
“To letting me take you out, show you how it should be, make you feel good.”
Sanji’s hands had found their way to Zoro’s chest, could feel his heart pounding. “This is a terrible idea.”
I’m going to fall even harder. This is going to ruin me. When it’s over and you go back to just being my crewmate, I’m going to have to pretend I’m fine even though I’m breaking apart.
“Probably.”
“We’re going to complicate everything.”
“Maybe.”
“I want to do it anyway.”
I’m selfish and desperate and I’ll take whatever pieces of you I can get, even knowing it won’t be enough.
Zoro’s smile was fierce. “Good.”
~*~*~
They decided to go out. Off the ship, away from the crew’s prying eyes. Sanji wanted to keep this private and Zoro understood. This thing between them was too new, too fragile to expose to the crew’s inevitable commentary.
Plus, Zoro wanted to do this right. He wanted to take Sanji on an actual date, even if neither of them was calling it that.
They met at a restaurant Sanji had been eyeing since they’d docked. It was upscale but not pretentious, with a menu that made Sanji’s eye light up. Zoro had cleaned up, traded his usual haramaki for actual pants and a shirt that didn’t have sword oil stains. Sanji had dressed up too in a suit that fit him perfectly and made Zoro’s mouth go dry.
“You look good,” the swordsman said as they were seated.
Sanji’s cheeks pinked. “You too. Didn’t know you owned clothes without holes in them.”
“I have depths.”
“Apparently.”
They ordered with Sanji getting half the menu because he wanted to try everything, Zoro getting whatever had the most protein. The food was excellent and the conversation flowed easily. They’d been crewmates for years, they knew how to talk to each other, even if most of that talk was usually insults.
This felt different though, softer. Zoro found himself telling Sanji about his childhood, about Kuina, about things he rarely discussed. Sanji talked about the Baratie, about Zeff, about learning to cook and fight and survive.
“I never thanked you,” Sanji said eventually, twirling wine in his glass. “For the other night. For taking care of me.”
“You did actually.”
“Still. It meant a lot.” Sanji’s eye met his. “You mean a lot.”
Zoro’s chest tightened. “Yeah. You too.”
After dinner, they found a bar. It was more of a club with a dance floor and pulsing music than the queer bar had been. Zoro ordered beer and Sanji got something fruity and complicated. They loitered at the bar for a while, have a couple drinks while trying to talk over the music.
“Dance with me,” Sanji said eventually after his second drink.
Zoro raised an eyebrow. “I don’t dance.”
“Liar. I saw you at the other bar. You were moving to the music.”
“That’s different from dancing.”
“Come on, Moss. Live a little.” Sanji’s smile was challenging. Zoro had never been able to resist a challenge from him.
“Fine. But if I step on your feet, that’s on you.”
The dance floor was crowded, bodies moving together in the dim lighting. Sanji led him to a spot near the edge, then turned and pulled Zoro close. His hands settled on Zoro’s shoulders and Zoro’s found Sanji’s waist as they moved.
Zoro wasn’t a great dancer, but he had rhythm, years of sword training had given him that. Sanji moved like water, fluid and graceful, making it easy to follow. They found a rhythm together, bodies pressed close. Zoro forgot about everyone else in the room.
“You’re better at this than you pretended,” Sanji said, lips close to Zoro’s ear.
“You bring it out in me I guess.”
Sanji pulled back enough to meet his eye. The look on his face made Zoro’s breath catch. It was want, affection and something deeper, something that matched the feeling in Zoro’s chest.
The music shifted to something slower and Sanji’s arms slid around Zoro’s neck. They were barely moving now, just swaying together. Zoro could feel every point of contact between them like a brand.
“Zoro,” Sanji breathed.
“Yeah?”
“Kiss me.”
So Zoro did.
~*~*~
Kissing Zoro on the dance floor was different from kissing him in the galley. It was more public for one. Sanji didn’t care. He was done hiding, done pretending he didn’t want this. He could indulge this for one night. Zoro’s mouth was hot and demanding, his hands tight on Sanji’s hips, and Sanji melted into it.
The kiss deepened, Zoro’s tongue sliding against his. Sanji made a sound that could be classified as a moan. His cheeks flared with heat but Zoro’s body was pressed against his and the music pulsing around them, so he couldn’t bring himself to care too much. His fingers tangled in Zoro’s hair, holding him close. He tugged the strands a little meanly and Zoro’s grip on his hips tightened in response.
When they finally broke apart, both breathing hard, Zoro’s eye was dark with want.
They made their way back through the crowd, Zoro’s hand never leaving the small of Sanji’s back. The possessive touch sent heat pooling in his gut. When they reached a booth, Zoro slid in first and Sanji followed without hesitation, pressing close.
“Come here,” Zoro demanded, pulling Sanji practically into his lap.
Sanji went willingly, shifting so he was half-sitting on Zoro’s thigh, his legs thrown over Zoro’s lap. It was intimate, closer than they’d ever been outside of a fight, and Sanji’s heart was racing.
“This okay?” Zoro asked, one hand settling on Sanji’s hip, the other on his thigh.
“More than okay.”
Sanji leaned in and kissed him again.
This kiss was slower than the one on the dance floor, but no less intense. Zoro’s hand slid up from Sanji’s hip to his waist, thumb stroking the strip of skin where his shirt had ridden up. The touch sent shivers through Sanji’s body and he pressed closer, his hand coming up to cup Zoro’s jaw.
“You taste good,” Zoro murmured against his mouth. “Like that fancy drink you ordered.”
Sanji bit down gently on Zoro’s lower lip, drawing a soft groan from the man, the sound vibrating through both their chests before he pulled Sanji fully into his lap. Now Sanji was straddling one of Zoro’s thighs, and the friction was delicious and maddening all at once. He could feel Zoro’s arousal pressing against his hip, could feel his own cock hardening in his pants.
“Fuck,” Sanji breathed. “Zoro—”
“I know.” Zoro’s hands were everywhere now. His waist, his back, sliding down to grip his ass and pull him closer. “I know, Curls.”
They kissed again, deeper this time, all pretense of restraint gone. Sanji’s fingers tangled in Zoro’s hair, tugging slightly, and Zoro’s responding growl went straight to Sanji’s cock. He shifted in Zoro’s lap, seeking friction, and Zoro’s grip on his ass tightened.
“You’re going to kill me,” the greenhead warned against his mouth.
“Good way to go,” Sanji replied.
Zoro laughed, the sound rough and warm, and kissed him again. His hand slid up under Sanji’s shirt, calloused fingers tracing patterns on his skin, and Sanji arched into the touch. Every point of contact felt electric, overwhelming in the best way.
“People are staring,” Zoro murmured, though he didn’t sound like he cared.
Sanji glanced around without pulling away from Zoro. A few patrons were indeed watching them. Some with interest, some with knowing smiles, some with clear envy, some with disgust. His eye caught on a familiar face across the room and his stomach dropped. Sadaichi. The man from upstairs, the one who’d left him feeling used and hollow.
For a moment their gazes locked and Sanji saw the recognition flash across Sadaichi’s face too. The man’s expression shifted to surprise, then something that looked like regret or maybe just wounded ego. He looked away first.
Sanji didn’t care. He turned back to Zoro and kissed him again, deeper this time, fiercer.
Sadaichi had been nothing but a moment of disappointment and pain. Zoro was everything. Zoro’s hands tightened on his hips like he understood, like he knew exactly what Sanji needed in that moment: passion, intention, being chosen.
“Let them stare,” Sanji replied when they broke apart. “Don’t care.”
“No?” Zoro’s smile was sharp and possessive. “Good, because I’m not done with you yet.”
He pulled Sanji into another kiss, this one slow and thorough, like he was trying to memorize the taste of Sanji’s mouth. His hand slid up Sanji’s back, under his shirt, fingers tracing the line of his spine. Sanji shivered and pressed closer, his own hands exploring Zoro’s shoulders, his chest, the hard muscle of his arms.
“You’re so responsive,” Zoro said, lips moving to Sanji’s jaw, then his neck. “Every touch, every kiss, you react like you’ve been waiting for this.”
“I have been,” Sanji admitted, tilting his head to give Zoro better access.
Zoro bit down gently on the junction of Sanji’s neck and shoulder causing Sanji to gasp, his hips jerking involuntarily. “Fuck, Zoro.”
“Like that?” Zoro did it again, then soothed the spot with his tongue.
Sanji’s breathing was ragged now, his cock hard and aching in his pants. “You’re going to leave marks.”
“Good. Want everyone to know you’re taken.”
The words sent a thrill through Sanji. Taken. Zoro wanted people to know he was taken. Did that mean he wanted to keep him? That he wanted people to know Sanji was his? But no, this was just sexual, right? Even if it was, Zoro still wanted him enough to make sure people knew. The possessiveness should have bothered him, but instead it made him feel wanted, claimed in a way that was intoxicating.
They kissed again, hands wandering, bodies pressed close. Sanji could feel Zoro’s cock hard against him, could feel the way Zoro’s breathing had gone ragged. His own arousal was becoming painful, the need building with every touch, every kiss.
“Zoro,” Sanji gasped, pulling back just enough to meet his eye. “I need— We need to—”
Zoro’s pupil was blown wide, his face flushed.
“Yeah, we do.
“I got a room at a hotel. Just in case,” Sanji admitted, his voice rough. “I figured if I left that up to you, we’d never get there.”
Zoro rolled his eye but his smile was sharp and predatory.
“Smart.” His hands slid down to Sanji’s hips, holding him steady. Zoro kissed him again, quick and hard. “Come on. Before I decide to fuck you right here in this booth.”
The words sent heat flooding through Sanji’s body. He climbed off Zoro’s lap on shaky legs and Zoro stood, immediately pulling him close again. They made it to the bar long enough to pay their tab, Zoro insisting on covering it despite Sanji’s protests, and then they were leaving, Zoro’s hand possessive on the small of Sanji’s back as they navigated through the crowd.
The night air was cool against Sanji’s flushed skin, but it did nothing to calm the heat building inside him. Zoro’s hand never left him, sliding from his back to his hip, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt to touch bare skin.
“How far?” Zoro asked.
“Two blocks.” Sanji leaned into him as they walked. “Close. I made sure it was close.”
“Good.”
They walked quickly, the tension between them building with every step. Zoro kept touching his back, his hip, his waist, his ass like he couldn’t help himself. Like he needed the contact as much as Sanji did. Sanji kept leaning into those touches, kept pressing closer, until they were practically stumbling down the street together.
When they reached the hotel, Zoro crowded him against the wall in the lobby, kissing him deep and thorough while they waited for the elevator. Sanji didn’t care that people were watching, didn’t care about anything except the feel of Zoro’s mouth on his and the solid weight of his body pressed close.
The elevator dinged and they stumbled inside. The moment the doors closed, Zoro had Sanji pressed against the wall, one hand braced beside his head, the other on his hip.
“You sure about this?” Zoro asked, his eye searching Sanji’s face. “Once we start, I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”
Sanji pulled him into a kiss. “I’m sure.”
“Tell me if you want to stop,” Zoro said against his mouth. “Anytime. I mean it.”
“I won’t want to stop.”
“Tell me anyway.” Zoro kissed him again, deep and demanding. “Promise me.”
“I promise.” Sanji’s hands slid under Zoro’s shirt, mapping the hard muscle of his stomach, his chest. “Now stop talking and kiss me.”
Zoro did, pressing him against the elevator wall, one thigh pressed between Sanji’s legs. The friction was perfect and maddening. Sanji couldn’t stop the moan that escaped him. Zoro swallowed the sound, his kiss turning more demanding, more possessive.
The elevator dinged again and they stumbled out into the hallway. Sanji’s hands were shaking as he fumbled for his key card, anticipation and nerves warring in his gut. Then Zoro’s hands were on his hips, his mouth on Sanji’s neck, and the nerves faded under the weight of want.
“Which room?” Zoro asked, voice gruff against Sanji’s skin.
“End of the hall.” Sanji finally got the key card out and nearly dropped it. “Fuck, I can’t— My hands won’t—”
Zoro took the card from him, his touch gentle despite the hunger in his eye.
“I’ve got you.”
He miraculously found the room, unlocked the door and pulled Sanji inside.
The moment the door closed behind them, Zoro was on him again, kissing him deep and thorough, walking him backward toward the bed. Sanji went willingly, his hands already working at the buttons of Zoro’s shirt, needing to feel skin against skin.
“You sure?” Zoro asked one more time, pulling back just enough to meet Sanji’s eyes.
“Yes.” Sanji cupped his face, holding his gaze. “I’ve never been more sure of anything.”
Zoro’s expression softened, something tender breaking through the hunger. “Okay, cook. I’ve got you.”
Sanji believed him.